A Reason to Fall
by Lesatho
Summary: It ended aboard the Shiva, but how did it begin? What was it that made the last Knight fall? Focused on Dalmasca's Dark Knight, Vossler Azelas. [Rated M for WarViolence]
1. The Torch is Passed

It was only midday when the call came through the house, upsetting the peaceful atmosphere and dropping the staff into mournful shuffling around the vaulted manor. After living a long and valorous life spent in dedication to the Kingdom of Dalmasca; General York Azelas was dying.

The massive curtains of the bedchamber were thrown open, giving a wide and truly awe inspiring view of the Rabanstre gardens; awash in color from blossoming flowers and hanging trees. Graceful arching trellis bordered a small pool, lilies and cattails swaying in the cool spring breeze in an atmosphere that would have been welcoming and tempting to any person indoors. Indeed, several members of the house staff had ventured outside to try and escape the pressing atmosphere of dismay and loss that bogged the house down into awkward and unyielding silence. On the other side of the window, the world beckoned and blossomed with new life. Inside was another matter; the room was stifling hot with the scent of sweat and the cloying perfume of flowers grouped in large urns about the room. Even the bright colors failed to lighten the atmosphere of fading life that filled the wood paneled walls. The sunlight cut wide arches onto the floor and dust drifted lazily through the golden streamers as if everything in the world had slowed to a crawling pace. Tied back into place with thick cords of woven fabric; the heavy curtains seemed portals to a better place.

The furniture that adorned the room was stiffly proper, high backed chairs with meager padding in rich reds and blues that seemed to skillfully fit the resounding pattern through the chamber; high ceilings and glorious tapestries depicting battles won and valorous knights astride gild chocobos. Suits of gleaming plate mail and polished chain draped from realistic figures spaced about the room, blank faces hidden by helms of all sorts and each clasping a gleaming piece of weaponry. It was as if there was a constant guard; like Knights in solemn sentry of their King.

Most days, Vossler loved to stand centered on the thick rug that covered the floor of his father's room and look at the tapestries, imagining himself one of the gallant warriors charging to battle on the back of a grandly armored chocobo. Other days he would silently try and remove the gleaming helms from the statues to place the oversized armor atop his boyish head. Even though he had to awkwardly tilt his head to see out of the slits and slashes made for sight in the wide metal visors it mattered little and he played at knight; standing at the end of the row of silent sentries in their lustrous plate mail and archaic weaponry and remaining impressively quiet and reverent until his little boy fidgeting took command and he was imagining himself adventurous and acting out victorious battles against giants, against dragons. In one such imagined confrontation he achieved single-handed victory against the massed forces of Rozzaria; peaceful though they were toward Dalmasca. Occasionally his father would see him there, staring in muted awe at the depictions of glory and he would take him onto his strong knee and regale him with tales of valor that left the boy gaping in wide eyed and innocent wonder.

Today was different though, Vossler stood encouragingly at his father's side. Years of Knighthood and hard combat had taken their toll upon the Dalmascan General and as Vossler watched in terrified silence his father seemed to sink further into the bed he'd been bound to for the last several weeks. York Azelas had once commanded a presence in the household that was reserved to giants; powerful and generous and everything a knight should have and could ever have been. The man had commanded armies against powerful foes, had led thousands of troops and earned the praise of the King himself. And now the old knight could scarce lift his head from the pillow. Seeing his father in that condition was something the young boy had never been prepared for. York Azelas had seemed invincible and unbreakable, a man that would go down valiantly in battle with the broken bodies of his rivals scattered at his feet. That had been an eventuality that Vossler had been well groomed to accept ever since he could understand such things as life and death. And so accepting his father going down fighting was something he could do. Seeing the powerful figure that he had once been dwindle and fade into nothing was hard. Very hard

"Son." Vossler nearly jumped at his father's words and reached out to take the withered hand that at one point in the old knight's life could have crushed bone. Now his grip was like the flutter of bird wings and Vossler gripped instinctively tighter, sensing his father was pulling away in a manner less than physical. There was honor etched into the hard planes of the general's face; in his dark and weathered skin with it's decoration of battle scars and a bristling of snowy whiskers that bordered the determined line of his jaw. Though old, his father's hair was stubbornly dark and going regally white at the temples. "It pains me that you must witness my downfall as such. But bravery comes to us all in strange forms and in this, I know that you shall be brave." With watery, dark eyes York Azelas found his sons gaze; it was painfully uncertain though he could tell the boy was trying to be brave. The old knight smiled and drew a breath. "You ought not fear this, Vossler. All men, courageous and craven alike must face their eventual end. By facing it with dignity do we find strength. Strength to give to those that survive us in times of hardship such as this." Vossler swallowed hard and edged his slight form closer to the bed.

"Do not fear. Yours is a blood in which runs an honorable and undying legacy, Vossler York Azelas." There was a reverent weight to his fathers papery words; his voice like a whisper as he shifted his frail body. "Before me, my father was a Knight of Dalmasca. And before him, his father served faithfully and loyally. Ours is a lineage of service to the crown and protection of her people, Vossler. There is nothing more courageous and nothing more worthy than protecting another. Be it but one man, or a kingdom of faithful. I pray that you will understand this as you age, Son. It is in your blood to become a Knight and this path I urge upon you so that you may bring honor to yourself Vossler, and to your family."

There was a slow hush that fell over the room and Vossler stared with youthful intensity at the fading life before him. For a moment he imagined that was the last that his father had to say to him. But as he began to release the grip he had maintained so devotedly on his father's hand, the old knight's fingers closed tightly around his own and Vossler was once again drawn to his cloudy eyes.

"The Azelas family has a proud history that you will become a part of, Vossler. We have served Kingdoms and protected Kings for generations. For centuries we have safeguarded Dalmasca's rulers and before that, Rozzarian royalty. It is not lightly that I tell you this, for it is a long and perilous road to Knighthood and though I wish for your own greatness, the responsibility and the right falls solely on your shoulders." His words held the guarded weight that may have been the first stones to bend the boy's back and crack his resolve, making him wary and fearful of the path he had been set to follow. But it didn't. Instead, the boy that stood at his father's deathbed found a certain strength and encouragement in the words of the dying knight and squared his shoulders stiffly back.

"I'll be a knight like you." Vossler insisted, his dark eyes shining with an eager edge that brought a weak but heartfelt smile to his father's lips. So many times he had seen the same look in the eyes of young soldiers and prospective squires. But it often led to a hard disappointment and even in the best of careers; a life spent destroying your own body to defend that of your kingdom. Concern filled the knight's eyes but was quickly overshadowed by the immense pride he felt in his son, a brave boy ready to take the responsibility of a kingdom settled across his narrow shoulders.

"Be brave, Vossler, for that is all that I ask of you. Do what is right for the people of Dalmasca, for they are the reason a knight risks himself in battle. The protection of a King or a Queen is vitally important, but pales in the protection of a people. Defend those who cannot defend themselves, Son. Fight on the behalf of those unable to do it on their own." Speaking of the honor of knighthood seemed to bring renewed strength to the old general and for a moment Vossler was also caught up in the glory of his father's past; his eyes wide and sharp as his father painted a portrait of a just and noble life. "Tell me, Vossler, the road is long and hard and though I know you are but a child now, with my passing you will be the man of the manor. Will you do this for me and defend Dalmasca now that I no longer have the strength?"

There was no hesitation in Vossler's response; his voice shrill and excited as he piped out a very sincere and very honest "Yes!" Abashed by his own outburst, the child ducked his head to cover the momentary flush of color that rose to his cheek before fixing his father once more with an earnest look. "Yes, Father. I'll protect Dalmasca."

"Good.. good." Letting out a contented sigh, York Azelas let his head sink further into the soft pillow and smiled faintly. "There are important things you would do well to remember. Be loyal, Vossler, to your comrades and to your command. You will lose friends to the sweeping tide of battle, but do what you can to protect them and keep them safe. Complete your duties and your missions, never give in to failure. Be honorable. Be sound in your judgment and above all, you must absolutely never let the people fall to harm. We are here to protect innocents. Remember that."

"I promise, Father." At his response, York fell quiet and nodded his head. There was pride in the man's eyes as he looked at the strength of his son beside him. Pride, not only of a father, but of a leader of men. His son would make something of himself and of the Azelas line. He was sure of it.

"Good boy." Slowly exhaling, he closed his eyes and mustered the energy to give his son's fingers a squeeze. "Good boy." And his son watched as his father's features went slack in sleep, the hard lines of his face giving way to something Vossler rarely saw on his father's features: peace. It was a long time of standing faithfully beside his father's bed that he realized the old knight's chest no longer rose and fell beneath the intricately patterned blankets of his bed. Eyes widening in sudden and horrific realization, Vossler grabbed tightly to his fathers hand even though he knew it was far too late to say his goodbyes. Though it was kept to a solemn whisper, his voice seemed strangely loud in the silent and peaceful room.

"Goodbye Father." General York Azelas of the Knight's Order of Dalmasca was dead. Vossler, now the man of the Azelas family line at the tender age of seven years, shed no tears.

The name of Azelas earned him automatic acceptance into the Rabanastre Arms Academy; a head start at the necessary training to become an elite fighter. The Academy offered tutelage in the art of war, strategy and command to those who would eventually come to need it. It was not an institute easy to access. But it was a head start; an edge and all that Vossler felt he needed at that time in his life. Feeling that the home he left was no longer a home at all, he left it to the care and control of the staff, packed his things and departed under the careful guidance of the Azelas steward.. At seven years of age, he knew where he needed to be and what needed to be done. Though somebody of his meager years was ruthlessly measured before they could become part of such a prestigious establishment, his noble family name and his earnest nature and dignity far surpassing his age earned him entrance.

And so his training began. The path to knighthood was set, and the torch was passed.


	2. Nabradia Falls

**Author's Note: **Alright, so setting about explaining Vossler's reasoning from the very beginning was a 'good' idea, but after thinking about it, I think I bit off more than I could chew. So instead, I've planned to revamp the story. Keeping the intro; it's a good background for what's to come, but for now I'm going to stick to what happens during the game. From Ashe's wedding to the Shiva.

Of course, I'm also curious if this is something that anybody will be interested enough in reading. Let me know; here's the rework of Chapter 2.

-Lesatho

The day had been sunshine and roses. It was stunning how the skies cleared, white clouds floating gracefully through the air in some tapestry of majesty that he could never hope to put real words to. But he also didn't try to; such things were beyond the stoic heart of a Knight. Or maybe just this knight, he often told himself. Even so, Vossler couldn't deny the fact that the wedding parade and following ceremonies had been perfect.

The Knights of the Order had made a stunning appearance in rank upon rank of glimmering silver mail that seemed to give off an inner light of it's own, and though they all kept stiffly in line and command, there were voices that wafted occasionally from within the closed helmets. 'Didn't her Highness look lovely?' 'Lord Rasler will make a grand husband.' 'Perhaps now we'll stand a chance.'

And it was that simple, hopeful comment that seemed to control the rest of Knight-Captain Vossler York Azelas' night.

True, the wedding had been wonderful and after the ceremony and preening, posing socialization that was expected of the knights of Dalmasca, the thing that weighed heavy on his sharp, soldier's mind was the threat of war on the horizon. The menace was always there; hanging unseen and heavy over the minds and hearts of both Dalmascans and Nabradians. Or so he imagined. Surely, it hung over his.

Which was why, he supposed, when he found himself at the Sand Sea later that night, surrounded by celebrants and fellow knights and soldiers who automatically equated in their heads that celebrations were only proper with lots of drinking, he couldn't really bring himself to join in. Contemplative, he stared into the bottom of his mug of ale as if hoping all the answers and strategies he might ever need would resurface so long as he never looked up. Callused hands moved restlessly across the surface of the table; turning the mug in uneasy thought, tapping on the polished wood with a sort of bone-deep impatience as his head began to ache with the celebration that seemed to multiply all around him.

It was probably a good thing that it was his fellow Knight-Captain that found him. One moment, he was alone at the table with the mug set in his sights and teeth grit against the noise that pressed inward all around him. And then the next moment, Basch was there; one hand set steadily atop his to ease the restless jittering that the fair haired knight had probably been watching for some time.

"Your unease does not suit the mood, Captain Azelas." Ever the quiet one; Basch offered a briefly encouraging smile and slid the mug away from Vossler's hands, tipping it upward in a private kind of toast.

"No, I suppose not." Admitting a problem was always half of the battle. Or so he heard. But surely Basch would understand the reason he couldn't bring himself to celebrate, even if the peace and cooperation between Dalmasca and Nabradia had finally been sealed. "I hope there is no misunderstanding. I am quite happy for Princess Ashelia and Lord Rasler. But war hangs over the horizon."

"War always hangs over the horizon. Let it go. For just a night." As if it was that simple. No words were needed though as communication flowed between the two with some sort of mutual understanding. Having been partnered together since their early years as squires the two had developed a deep friendship. And a way of communicating without the aid of words. Even though people saw Basch as a calm and controlled person in all aspects, Vossler knew the inner turmoil that plagued his friend. And in the same manner, Basch was able to see past the habitual scowl and stern features that Vossler wore around like a second suit of armor.

"You know that it is never that easy." Impatient, Vossler reached out to reclaim his mug and Basch handed it over without needing much prodding. Once it was back in his possession though, he still found no desire to drink it and once again took to using it as a distraction for his restless hands. "Nabudis has been under high alert for months now. The Archadians mass at the threshold and nobody seems willing or able to put things together enough to understand that this is a very _real_ threat."

"I believe this is a time when I would tell you that Vossler, you worry for naught." Basch seemed so certain that despite his nature, the dark haired knight felt ready to give in and celebrate. Signaling to the bangaa barkeep that already had a hard time trying to keep up with orders, Vossler managed to get across that he needed another drink for his still-armored friend.

"Did you have a chance to shed your armor and decide you simply like the way it looks, Basch?" Vossler ribbed, though Basch didn't rise to the bait.

"My command was the last to be dismissed. I was short on time and the revelry had already begun." Shrugging rather affably, he accepted the mug of beer that the bangaa set before him and raised it up. "To the Princess Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca. May she find peace and happiness with her new husband."

Obligingly, Vossler tilted his mug to meet Basch's and smiled faintly at the heavy contact of the well worn earthenware. "To the Princess." Toast made, he upended the mug and winced at the sour warmth of it. Perhaps he should have taken the chance to get himself a fresh mug. Determined though, he drank until the mug was empty and slammed it back onto the hard wood with a satisfied sigh. Basch was just a second behind, bringing his mug down onto the table with a sharp clatter that still did nothing to pierce the revelry around them.

"We should go someplace a little less noisy." Vossler suggested, turning to eye the gathering crowd as they seemed to press in from all sides. Had all of Rabanastre turned up there for celebrations? "Basch, do you-.. Basch?" There was a look on the other knight's face that Vossler couldn't quite place, but he seemed to be staring right over his shoulder. Basch seemed uncharacteristically somber. It dropped a hard knot into the pit of his stomach and wiped out what cheer the older knight had started to feel.

Twisting about at the waist, he picked out the armored individual shoving his way through the crowd toward their table with ease. While the rest of the city was dressed in collections of festive silks and cottons, this man was armored in steel and his face was hard with a message of impending threat. "Oh.."

"Captains Ronsenburg and Azelas." Stiffly addressing the pair of knights, he looked from their suddenly tensed faces to the empty mugs with a look of acute longing. This was a messenger with little time for joy it seemed. "I have a message from King Raminas Dalmasca. You are needed immediately in the map room." As the messenger turned, Vossler rose smoothly to his feet and grabbed the younger man by the shoulder, turning him back around rather more forcefully than he likely needed to.

"Is that all your message was?" A short nod of worry. "Are there any more messages you need to deliver this evening?" The messenger's features twisted into confusion, but he shook his head.

"No, sir.. Captain Azelas. My duty tonight is done. You and Captain Ronsenburg were the last to receive the message." And much to the young man's surprise, Vossler quickly shifted positions, pressing him into the seat and signaling the bangaa for another drink.

"Then enjoy your night now. You may not have another chance." Vossler's dire warning seemed to sink the man's enthusiasm and the exclamation of thanks died on his lips. Basch rolled his eyes and rose to his feet, grasping Vossler's arm as they made their way through the throng of people.

"I think you could have delivered that better." Breaking out of the Sand Sea freed them to fresh air and relative silence and Basch turned toward the palace. Vossler let out a low grunt of displeasure as they began a quick march down the streets. Confetti and streamers that had been separated from celebrants were crushed underfoot and Vossler reflected on the mockery of it for a moment.

"I only hope that this is not a pressing matter." At the doors, Vossler turned to go down a separate hallway and cast Basch an apologetic look. "Please let the counsel know I am on my way. I think that armor would be better suited to what I feel they have to tell us."

"Ever the dramatic." Basch nodded though, and turned to go. Echoing crisp against the polished tiles of the palace floors, the knight's steps quickly receded from earshot.

"I am hardly dramatic." Hopefully he was mistaken. For all he imagined war and prepared for it, he didn't want to think that it was actually upon them now, the day of the wedding at that! Preposterous though it sounded, peace should have taken precedence today. The world should have stood still so this day might have passed easily on the minds of all. It was unfair, really. Not for him though, Vossler had always accepted that things don't go well for those who fight. But for the Princess, for the Prince. For the people of Rabanastre and all of Dalmasca.

Well practiced at putting on his armor, he shrugged into the heavy plate and was well on his way. Perhaps they wouldn't miss his presence much.

To some degree, he was right. In the commotion that the map room was engulfed in, his quiet arrival went largely unnoticed. But it was easy to tell that he had been right about what was to be reported. Not that it was a comforting thought.

Nabudis had fallen. Counsel and King vied for control of the floor and Vossler took a moment to study the maps.. Nabradia was as well as lost, Archadia had taken advantage of the day of celebration to catch Dalmasca's fresh ally off guard and attack in full. "This is dire news.." Muttering to himself as he studied the map unnoticed, the commotion continued.

"It's only a matter of time before they reach the borders of Dalmasca." As indicated by the war counsel's clear direction, the map lights began to glow and the perceived forces of Archadia swept across broken Nabradia in what was predicted to be their main push. "There is nothing to hold their advance."

King Raminas shook his head and Vossler lifted his eyes from the map to see a helpless weariness settle over his king. It was concerning. "Secure Nalbina with all haste." The border fortress would be their last stand.. Before Vossler could offer his aid, another voice swept in on the trailing silence.

"I will go." Basch announced, his voice carrying over the turmoil that engulfed the room. Heavy cape swinging, he turned to go before anybody could offer a protest.

"And I will go at his side." The words that Vossler had thought to speak came instead from Lord Rasler's lips. A stunned sort of silence settled over the room as the counsel and king looked on in amazement. The young Lord had a new bride, but was willing and ready to risk his life to save his homeland. Noble, but Vossler thought at the same time that it had the potential to go poorly. Basch swept out of the room, Rasler on his heels.

Cursing his poor timing and inability to speak up quick enough, Vossler turned awkwardly, fought briefly with the restraint of his heavy cape and whirled down the hallway after Basch. "Captain Ronsenburg!" Rasler looked back in surprise, but Basch kept moving; distracted by the planning that was already working its way through his head. "Damn your ears.. Basch!" Again, Rasler seemed surprised to find the other knight on their heels, but he wisely split off; no doubt to seek out his new wife and inform her of his decision.

Catching up after a few moments of tired plodding, Vossler grasped hold of the back of his comrade's collar and brought him awkwardly to a halt. "Basch," Now that he had finally brought the other knight to a halt, he wasn't sure what he had wanted to say in the first place. "You'll need backup."

"Vossler, there will be an entire army at my back." Curious, Basch waited to see if this was the only complaint Vossler had. They'd fought a long time together; shoulder to shoulder and even in some cases, back to back. If anybody knew his capabilities, he trusted that Vossler would be it.

"Lord Rasler means well, but.." Vossler trailed off lamely, uncertain as to why he suddenly felt abandoned. Unneeded.

"But.. he is not you." Basch's voice was steady but they both understood then that is was more a matter of being comfortable with the decision. They did not usually fight without the other.

"Yes. He is not me." Dark eyes sought the ground between his feet in a habitual sign of unease. Basch knew him well enough though and offered an encouraging clap to the shoulder that sang with the metal on metal contact of their armor.

"Vossler, it will be strange without you at my side, but nothing will go wrong." That said, Basch turned and was gone and Vossler was left wondering what had gone unsaid between them that made him still feel like this was some sort of mistake. They had been partnered together since their first mission as freshly promoted knights and hadn't been separated for tasks or drills since it was discovered how well the volatile Dalmascan and the steady Landisian worked together.

The early hours of morning found preparations nearly complete and the force ready to move onward to Nalbina in defense of Dalmasca. It also found Vossler resting against the wall of Basch's barracks room as he watched his friend prepare for what was to come. The dark haired night had spend much of the evening contemplating the strange turn of events and wondering if perhaps his reaction was as much due to jealousy than anything else. Or worry for Basch's safety, though neither possibility was voiced as he waited silently for his friend to finish preparations.

Things passed in relative silence, Vossler unwilling to interrupt Basch's packing and the other knight concentrating on getting everything he needed together. Regardless of what people thought, packing things was an art form among soldiers and travelers. You had to plan for where you would be and what the conditions would fall into. And so many layers to consider as well. It could be daunting, but Basch was a pro and Vossler was content to watch, keeping his movement down to a minimum so the noise of his armor wouldn't become a distraction. While the full formal plate looked and felt professional, unless you were up against something that hit like a cannon and possessed the mobility of a tree, it was too heavy to maneuver in. And impossible to wait in.

"I'm done." Basch broke the silence smoothly and Vossler looked up from the floor to fix the other knight with a blank stare. "You seem overly worried, Vossler. I would think that you of all people would have enough faith in my abilities."

"That's rather unfair of you to assume." Vossler sighed, brows folding down into a tense scowl. "I have complete faith in you, Basch." It was Lord Rasler that fueled his doubts. The man was young, inexperienced in the ways of war, and passion and drive alone wouldn't keep him safe on the battlefield. Vossler had scars to prove it. Every soldier or knight who lived past his first decade had physical proof of that fact etched in their skin.

The growing silence was broken once more as Basch drove the blade of his Order sword into the scabbard. "Vossler, while I lead our forces against the Archadians at Nalbina, you must stay wary. Attack could come from anywhere."

"I know." Pushing off the wall with a low breath of frustration, he turned and followed Basch as the knight moved toward the courtyard where the ships would be converging to transport the troops to the edge of Nalbina Fortress. Basch moved with a calm kind of certainty, Vossler trailed behind wearing his doubt like a cloak for all the world to see. It was going to be a lousy way to wish his friend well and so he stopped, clamping down on his self control. It seemed to take all of his will power not to follow Basch as he continued heedlessly down the hall. He was already hip-deep in battle in his mind and ready to shed blood for the protection of Dalmasca.

"Captain Ronsenburg," Vossler called out firmly. Slowly, Basch came to a halt and turned focused green eyes to the other knight. "Show them what it means to think us weak." Offering an encouraging smirk, Captain Azelas did what he could to make the parting easier on himself, for Basch seemed to have no trouble. Had he always been this reliant upon his friend for peace of mind?

Returning the smirk, Basch lifted a hand to his forehead in a casual sort of salute and was off once more. Taking a deep breath, Vossler turned and headed back to the counsel; who remained on edge and in the process of sorting out contingency plans. Perhaps that was all he needed to calm himself.

As he stood over the maps of Ivalice in the chamber and watched the animated fleet of Archadian warships move in a monotonous loop toward Dalmasca time after time, Vossler concentrated on what plans had to be made should Nalbina fall. It was impossible to consider, but he needed to think harder should he be pressed to offer advice and strategy.

Outside in the courtyard, a fleet of transport ships rose into the breaking dawn and headed for Nalbina.


	3. Aftermath

There was little news from the warfront at first; and the continuing silence became an ominous thing. Something had gone horribly wrong in Nalbina, though nobody could imagine the precise details. A tense air began to grow and spread through the war counsel and the barracks halls; half empty with the deployment of the forces of Dalmasca to the border. Soldiers paced, knights took to wearing full battle armor on habit alone as the palace walls filled with an apprehensive edge, much like the calm before the storm. The staff began to avoid the barracks hall as the warriors became more on edge, snapping at each other and stalking shadows in search of an intangible something to blame the heavy anticipation on.

Of them all, Vossler was the worst. The Knight-Captain prowled the halls with a scowl like hell brimming over, eyes dark with restless energy. Almost an omen to his arrival was the heavy fall of his armored greaves on the tiled corridors, a noise that carried on rooms ahead and acted like a warning. His own troops, people who admired and followed the knight without question, began to grow wary of his presence and seemed to vanish when he rounded a corner. The lack of information from the border was slowly turning the palace on its side and the longer there was silence, the worse the soldiers became; not knowing when to start putting things in order to move to the border themselves. Whispers began to spread of full out war.

All of this within the span of two days. When word finally did come, it was on the leading edge of the quickly retreating forces and Vossler was the first in the war room to receive it; chomping restively on the bit as he tried to coax the information out of the weary messenger who managed to get ahead of the returning fleet. Dead on his feet with exhaustion, the messenger still refused to relate any of the information until the remainder of the counsel had arrived.

Sweeping in as Vossler badgered the man in growing agitation though, was a person the dark haired knight hadn't expected to see in the halls of the palace at the dark hour. News had come shortly after the clock passed an hour after midnight and the counsel was taking too long to wake. Vossler hadn't been sleeping; torn into distraction by the lack of news. News was, after all, the blood of the military world. It seemed he hadn't been the only one and as he turned; his dark eyes focused on the ghostly presence of Princess Ashelia; dressed in robe and slippers with dark circles below her usually fiery eyes.

Fighting between dual urges, the Knight-Captain was unsure whether to bow in respect or avert his eyes for much the same reason at her choice of clothing. "Highness-"

"Quiet, Captain." Her voice resounded with impatience of its own and spurred by her actions, Vossler decided to simply bow, bending stiffly at the waist to all the distance his armor would allow. Even so, her agitation seemed to equal his own because rather than acknowledge his show of honor, she rounded on the messenger with a fury that nearly surpassed his own. "What news do you bring? I wish to hear it now!" Taken aback, the messenger fumbled with words until Vossler reached out to rest a gentle hand on Ashelia's shoulder. Twisting under his touch, she slapped it off and cast him a look full of venom and sick with worry.

"Your Highness, please." In her eyes, he found a mirror to his own turmoil and gestured to a high backed seat near the counsel table. Though she fought with her own mired sense of dignity and responsibility, Ashelia finally surrendered and allowed him to lead her to the chair; perhaps sensing his own blind desperation to find out what had happened. "We will learn nothing until the remainder of the counsel is present."

"I cannot bear to wait any longer." The posture she took was so stiff that Vossler feared the woman might break. But it was then he realized that, even though he had met the Princess several occasions before and only briefly, she was made of stronger stuff than he had first assumed. It took all he had to calm himself and try to delegate his own strength to the young woman, but in a few moments of sitting in quiet exposure to the other's agitated sense of self they both seemed to relax. "Captain Azelas.." He was surprised that she recalled his name. "I must know."

Even more of a surprise was the sudden shimmer to her eyes, and sensing the oncoming tide of worry; Vossler pulled off a hard metal gauntlet and laid his hand encouragingly over the Princess'. Briefly, her eyes flashed darkly in a sort of righteous indignation at his forwardness, but after the initial reaction passed her features softened and she seemed to accept the gesture of support. Their shared despondency lasted only moments though before the doors into the war room opened, the remainder of the counsel filtering into the room in small groups. Ashelia was on her feet and at the beleaguered messenger's side in a heartbeat and as the counsel crowded around the man to hear the news, Vossler stood by in a practiced veneer of calm as he tugged the metal layers of his gauntlet back over his chilled fingers.

In what was possibly the strangest thing he'd seen, the knight turned to regard the counsel with a raised eyebrow. Like children awaiting some fantastic tale, the counsel members circled the messenger; his low words carrying strong against the tense silence that engulfed the room. Princess Ashelia stood closest it seemed, pressing into the circle with desperate hope. While they awaited the important news, the messenger recounted the units they had been faced with and the attacks set upon them.. But he hadn't yet told them, what they all wanted to hear; what was the accumulated loss? Had Nalbina fallen?

And then he heard them; roaring on the wind in the distance like dragons or an ill storm stirring. Transports. There was no mistaking the guttural howl of damaged glossair rings; and before anybody else in the room could register the distant how,l the palace broke into a flurry of action. "They return!"

Cape flashing out behind him in a sweep of heavy blue and gold canvas, Vossler turned nimbly and made for the broad double doors as the messenger sputtered in surprise; his information forgotten as the advance party of troops reached the Rabanastre proper.

Footfalls of metal and stiff leather echoed down the corridors before him as Vossler raced toward the courtyard, his deep voice amplified by the arched hallways as he roused any within earshot. Wounded always came on the first transports and medics would be sorely needed. Though it would take longer, he cursed and split down the hallway that ran through the barracks to get more troops for support. Even so, he didn't stop his headlong flight through the royal hall and as he passed the rooms of his troops he smashed a metal clad fist against the wood; knowing it would be enough to jar the already frayed nerves into full wake.

By the time he swung back into the hallway that led to the courtyards, there was already a steady crowd trailing toward the open grounds where the transports would land. The ground lit up with a hazy blue glow of the glossair rings as the transports began to touch down, people moving in a flurry of desperation to be first to receive the news.

Over the roar of the crowd and the clicking spin of unbalanced rings that held the transports aloft, Vossler shouted orders to his troops. The area needed to be cleared, the crowd placed under control and a path made free for the arrival of the wounded. A triage began as soon as the doors opened and the first litters were brought into view. Soon, the medics had everything under control and Vossler directed the freshly arriving troops on how to best approach the situation.

More transports began to arrive, so he never had the chance to look for Lord Rasler or for Basch; praying that they had managed to keep safe during the bloody exchange in Nalbina. The bodies of the fallen were draped over with whatever was handy to mark their fall; capes in some cases and sheets in others. Narrowed eyes scanned the survivors put into triage as they came, looking for a flash of blonde hair and silver Knight-Captain armor. He also hoped though, that he wouldn't find it amongst the moaning and bleeding injured.

The sudden commotion that broke out behind him as he barked orders ran a cold finger down the back of his neck. With a chill that sent the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickling upward, he dismissed the bleary-eyed troops before him and turned to face the sudden wail that pitched over the crowd.

"Rasler!" It was Ashelia's voice, so choked with dismay that it took him a tense moment to discern. Then he was in motion, jamming people aside with little regard to their station or rank as he fought for a place where he could see what was going on. But there was no mistaking the pain of her exclamation and he knew the sight that awaited him would not be a pretty one.

Somebody snapped angrily as he shoved them aside, the metal rounds of his elbow and shoulder guards doing little to gain him popularity as he applied them both with the hard skill of battle. He didn't care. Knight-Captain Azelas was already known for his quick temper and rough nature and so he used his reputation to his advantage and cut his way forward, coming to a halt as he cleared the last of his obstructions and found himself gazing upon an unquestionably tragic scene..

Lord Rasler was dead, of that there was no doubt. Half an arrow still jutted from the young Prince's chest, lodged between the overlapping plates of his armor and set clean beside his heart. Ashelia knelt on the ground, fingers wound between his and her pretty face a mask of bitter loss. Even so, the Princess cried no tears though there was no doubting the pain she was in. Vossler spared a moment of silence, head bowed at the passing a man who had so much promise in him..

But where was Basch?

As the crowd surged back into life, he found himself drifting away from the heartbreaking scene before him, turning a deaf ear and blind eye to the Princess' pain in the way only a battle hardened soul could. It effected him on a level he denied himself access to as he rounded the ships to search for his friend.

Ship after ship turned up empty, soldiers recounted seeing Knight-Captain Ronsenburg alive and well, but couldn't tell the dark haired man where he had gone. In a growing frenzy that frayed his nerves and set his jaw into a sharp angle so tight that it ached, he turned away from his self-assigned duty and busied himself with helping whoever was near enough to need it.

The night passed into the early dawn hours and beyond; wounded coming in waves and triage carrying them away to be worked on as medics wielded curaja and curaga with unrelenting expertise. Through the panic of the events, Vossler's awareness came in surges as he did what he could; directing those who found themselves mired in shock and impatiently sending several exhausted medics and soldiers to their barracks to rest and salvage what energy they had left.

At one point he snapped back to awareness at the pained moans of the wounded as he aided a medic in moving a bloodied soldier to a wing set aside for medical treatment, and as the young man writhed on the narrow litter he offered what words of comfort he could. Whether the man had survived or not wasn't knowledge he possessed, he fell back into working on instinct and reflex after that. Relief came in waves; fresh aid arriving as he sent more and more soldiers away to eat and rest. Eventually, there were no more wounded to be treated, no more litters to be moved, no more dead to process. The sun was sinking back below the horizon though and the courtyard was heavy with the scent of blood and an encompassing weight of despair.

"Captain Azelas.." A tentative voice at his elbow broke the silence and Vossler turned from his quiet survey of the transport ships and their living coat of technicians and engineers. The youth who addressed him bore a tight look of apprehension. "Your presence is requested in the war counsel.."

"I see." The day had passed without food or rest on his part and Vossler suddenly felt very, very old.. But there was no time. War was upon them. He looked impassively down at his hands, brown and flaking with dried blood. Flexing his fingers, he shifted his attention coolly to the young man and jerked his chin toward the palace. "You are dismissed. I know the way."

The chaos that had engulfed the palace upon the arrival of the transports nearly a full day ago had since been reduced into small kicks of action, people filtering through the palace in various stages of weariness and melancholy. What hope the wedding had breathed into the people of Rabanastre seemed to have died with Lord Rasler and the clear announcement of Nalbina's fall. There was little grace left to Vossler as he trudged through the halls, muscles aching under the unforgiving layers of metal and leather he continued to wear. His armor was dingy and blood-smeared, the gleam of polish worn down by long hours of dragging back and forth through the palace halls.

When he entered the war counsel, what little conversation there was died down as all eyes turned to him; bedraggled and weary, carrying the scent of stale sweat and dried blood with him like a morbid perfume. The frown on his face and the set of his jaw was enough for them to understand that whatever they said now, he still would not go. King Raminas gave him a sour, but concerned look and attention returned to the sand table. Vossler scanned the gathered officials and strategists but still found no sign of Basch. Tired as he was, the continued absence of his friend jammed a hard fist into his stomach.

"We find ourselves facing a dire course of action. Lord Rasler has fallen in battle and Nalbina has been brought beneath the heel of the Archadian Empire. Though I fear there will be no success in it, we must go to the defense of Nabradia and give our allies time to retreat." The King's words brought up a chorus of complaints. Nalbina had fallen with a remarkable number of casualties and with the forces of Archadia possessing a solid foothold in Nabradia already, they would stand no change of success. The loss of life would be overwhelming. "There is no other course of action available to us. We must give them a chance to get to safety." Understanding that he sent his men to the grinder, the King seemed to wilt under his decision.

Clearing his voice, Vossler squared his shoulders back and fixed the gathered counsel with a measured look. "Our forces have been decimated. War has consumed Nabradia. Lord Ralser lays dead and Princess Ashelia is widowed. All of this rests on the hands on Archadia. How can we stand idly by while more suffer in Nabradia?" Though weariness had taken its toll on him, he somehow found the energy to lend strength to his words. "We cannot, in good faith, let the victims of Nabradia drift in war while we have the means to still fight back. To aid them. We must do this, to prove we are not cowards to Archadia and to prove that we are not heartless to our fallen allies."

"But we will be destroyed!"

"We stand little chance against the Empire."

"But it must be done." King Raminas took up the reigns once more and Vossler sagged against the wall, pressing the heels of his gauntleted hands to his eyes. There was little hope in what they did, but the Knights of the Order were still needed. And so they would go.. even it was to face their own ends.

The arguments continued well into the night, but King Raminas was unbending and Vossler backed his liege when necessary. By the time they had all accepted the situation, stubbornly though it may have been, it was nearing time for the funeral of Lord Rasler; set together quickly in the coming madness that only war could inspire.

Though it felt wrong somehow to bow out of the ceremony, Vossler hadn't the energy left to attend such an emotionally charged event and made his way slowly back to the barracks wing. He passed weary and melancholic soldiers, rooms being emptied of the possessions of the dead, whispers of war and challenges boasted to the far away Archadians. It all rolled off him like some waking dream as he made his way to his own room, pushing the door open and letting out a penned up groan of combined frustration, impatience and worry.

It took forever to strip away his armor, and despite the overwhelming urge to collapse onto his bed and let it be until he woke, he dutifully took to polishing each piece and placing it away with a long practiced care. And then, once it was all done and taken care of he found that sleep refused to come. His muscles were knotted cables, gut clenched in anticipation and worry. Even his mind refused to calm, running through each and every scenario of utter destruction at the hands of the Empire he could imagine. It started with wearily pacing the confines of his room, muttering complaints to himself. When that did little to calm or relax him he sat heavily on the edge of his mattress and willed his frayed nerves to be calm. And when that wouldn't work either it was with a huff of anger that he destroyed the small table that stood by the door of his room; dashing it to splinters with a roar of helpless rage.

And while the whole of Rabanastre grieved the loss of Lord Rasler, Vossler gathered together his things and took the long pathway through the barracks to the showers to rid himself of the lingering feel of defeat and failure that clung to his skin. The warm water did little to loosen his muscles and less to ease his temperament and in the end he returned to his room; clothing wet and trailing water through the corridors.

Opening the door with a vicious kick, he cursed himself and Archadia as he crossed the threshold and came up short. The destroyed furniture was gone and replaced, his room tidied and smelling of clean sandalwood, but it was the appearance of his fellow Knight-Captain on the edge of his bed that caused him to lapse into surprised silence. "Basch.."

"I failed." Interrupting the other Knight, Basch looked up from the floor and fixed a bloodshot look of utter misery on Vossler. "Lord Rasler lies dead and Nalbina fallen."

"None of it is your fault.." The silence between the two was tense and Vossler fought for the right things to say. Obviously, his friend held himself responsible for the young Prince's death. "What is done is done and none of it can be changed, no matter how much you long for it. Nobody blames you, Basch."

"Nobody needs to, Vossler. I carry the blame well enough on my own." Basch rose to his feet and moved wearily to the door, intent on leaving. Helpless, Vossler reached out and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder; frowning at the sudden tension he found there.

"Do not do this to yourself Basch.." Drawing in a shaking breath, he looked down at the floor and noticed that Basch still wore the armor he had fought in; the scent of blood and oil mingling over him still. "We go to war, Basch. I need to know that you will be well enough to support this. There is.. little chance that we will succeed in this endeavor."

"So I have heard." Pulling away listlessly, Basch continued down the hallway. "I will be ready, this I can promise you." Renewed despair settled across his shoulders as he watched Basch continue down the hallway. It was disheartening to see the change in his friend and he prayed that the next few days of preparation would be enough to shake him out of his misery.

The night passed slowly onward and still, Vossler found no release. Sleep could not gain victory over his restless mind.


	4. To the Slaughter

The last few days seemed like a blur of action. Vossler hadn't enough time to properly worry about whether or not he would survive this last charge into Nabradia to give Dalmasca's lost allies a chance to flee. The Knight-Captain had spent long hours speaking with the other Knights and his own troops; attempting to let them know the gravity of the situation without utterly crushing their spirits. It was a difficult balance to keep though in the end it seemed he had succeeded. Those with families bid them fond farewells and half honest promises of return. Those without sat and contemplated what their futures held. With the fall of Nalbina, the ranks of the Order had been thinned and in compensation Vossler found himself staring at several groups of freshly promoted knights; too young and inexperienced in his veteran opinion.

But there was no use dwelling on it and so he placed them in command of experienced squads and teams and gave the troops orders to do what needed to be done; taking several of the fresh knights on to fight beside him personally. So far as he knew, Basch was facing similar problems and had a score of fresh knights as well. It made for a heavy heart and a rather unpleasant taste in his mouth that they expected these untested men, no – boys, to survive the coming skirmishes. Vossler fully expected he would not return and in what was perceived as a morbid course of action, he took all the personal items in his barracks room and stored them securely in his footlocker.

The part of it all that weighed the heaviest upon his mind was Basch's absence. Though he was concerned for his friend on a level more personal than it should have been, the professional problems that arose were strategic chasms that needed to be filled. Vossler didn't just _want_ Basch's strategic opinion and planning aid, he _needed_ it in order to fill gaps and make a workable attack and defense plan since they always ended up side by side on the battlefield. But the Landisian native had made very few appearances outside his quarters as of late. Vossler took it upon himself to hunt the man down, but ended up getting sidetracked each time he resolved to find Basch and good-naturedly beat the dejection out of him.

And now they were out of time and the transports were gathering to drop them into Nabradia, now under control of the Archadians. Again, Vossler found himself wishing for more time to get things done but put on a stoic front and commanded his troops with an optimistic leadership that put the men more at ease. The more senior knights numbered in small amounts; he and Basch counted for two of the five Knight-Captains that remained of the Dalmascan Knights of the Order, the Knight-General had fallen in Nalbina along with the few other knights of senior leadership and so they were left to plan amongst the lesser leadership left intact on how to approach their mission. Moods were foul and the group of knights was surrounded by a fatalistic point of view that no matter how they did this; they would not be coming home. Even so, they maintained some manner of confidence around the troops they commanded.

"Are we ready, men?" Vossler's booming inquiry was met with a handful of nervous cheering. Dark brows slammed down into a scowl as he raised his voice into a ferocious roar. "I said; are we ready to show Archadia what it means to challenge us!" This time, the cheers were a little louder, the nervous apprehension fading. "We will show them no quarter! No mercy for those who attack like cowards!" Another round of cheers, louder at his words. "Dalmasca will not cower!" His last words were drowned out by the resounding roar from his troops and, with spirits raised for now at least, his troops began boarding the skiffs. Letting out a bitter sigh that was lost beneath the cacophony of movement generated by men and armor alike, Vossler stepped aside and oversaw the loading of equipment as he fought down guilt.

"Theirs not to reason why.." He began sourly, only to find the remainder of the saying snatched away from his lips.

"Theirs but to do and die." Basch stepped from the milling collection of soldiers and put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, a sad smile etched into his features. "I apologize for the way I have been behaving." Vossler smirked and clapped a hand onto Basch's shoulder in return as the two stood firmly against the ebb and flow of bodies.

"It is a hard thing to do." Consoling his friend the best he could, Vossler turned and gestured to a clear spot of ground in the crowd of soldiers and knights as they awaited boarding onto the large transport ships. "You did what you could, Basch. Of that there is no doubt." The flicker of uncertainty that passed briefly over the other captain's face didn't escape his notice and with a sigh, he folded iron clad arms over the chest piece of his armor.

"I am well, Vossler. I can fight. And win." And for a moment, Basch seemed so sure of himself that the older knight believed they had a chance at victory. It was brief though and his features once again fell under the dark cloud of doubt that nobody was able to accurately decipher. Except Basch, that was. The fairer knight could read him like a book. "I know this troubles you.."

"We send hundreds of men to their death, Basch. It troubles me greatly. But it is our duty." Shrugging, he tested the draw of his blade in the scabbard at his back. The massive broadsword slid easily free and he dropped it back with a grunt of minor satisfaction. "Our duty to die." They stood in awkward silence for what seemed like a lifetime until the other Knight-Captains arrived. "We go, I suppose. To Nabradia's defense. May they make it out alive while we feed the wolves."

"So grim." One of the others commented coldly and slammed his helmet into place, testing the shift and weight of his armor. Rather than the full set of silvered mail that the other Captains had settled into, Vossler had opted instead for something with more freedom; the Dalmascan military issue. Long, lightweight shorts, heavy leather boots with curved plates of armor down the legs and a heavy front and back piece studded with segmented plates of armor that covered the torso and buckled into place. Lower segments hung past the hips in front and back and the armor extended all the way down the arms to the hands. It had no helm; the focus of the suit being one of mobility and evasion over resilience.

Coupled with his massive broadsword, Vossler had the ability and the means to make short work of his enemies. So long as he managed to avoid being pinned down.

At the sounding of a horn, the captains separated ways and climbed into the transports with their troops. As the hatches closed, Vossler made his way to the far back of the transport to work on his strategy. The next time they set feet on solid ground would be in Nabradia; amongst the retreating civilians and defeated forces, standing alone against the oncoming Archadians..

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Since his first battle as a fresh knight to the Order, Vossler had the images of war planted deep into his subconscious mind as a field of fire and brimstone. War was hell, and the battleground his own arena of death. How else could he see it, when men fell bleeding and dying to the blood churned earth and you were forced to step over still wailing comrades to engage what could be your eternal end?

This was a war to challenge every other battle he had ever taken part in. The Archadian forces dominated the field with superior numbers and better planned tactics. No sooner had their transports touched down then they faced a barrage of blows from Archadian warships and overwhelming ground forces. Troops had fallen before they had even entered the fray.

That had been hours ago. Vossler was flanked by two other veteran knights, a young knight whose armor was still fresh at his rear as he commanded soldiers and troops as he waded fearlessly into battle; sword level and fast in a way that nobody associated with the heavier two-handed blade. Already they had lost more ground than they had first imagined; the superior forces pushing them back into deadlock where it was all they could do to get the surviving casualties back behind the front lines and hope to save them. Several smaller ships zipped overhead like lightning, stopping in mid-flight to collect the badly injured and usher them to safety. All too often these ships were shot down before they could escape and before long, the Dalmascan troops found themselves without aerial support.

Vossler mounted the still smoldering remains of a small craft and let out a bellow, leaping down without concern for his own safety to neatly dispatch an Archadian about to finish off one of his new knights. The young man was badly injured though, and Vossler snapped impatiently at one of the veterans at his side to move the boy back to safety. Fireballs exploded on the other side of a stony rise and despite his better sense, he gathered together a small contingency and rushed the rise, coming into the small depression behind the encroaching Archadians with a furious roar.

It was on the battlefield that Vossler had earned his reputation as a brutal warrior. Intensely focused and merciless when it came to the enemy, he was possessing of a ferocious nature that left the enemy not just defeated; but slaughtered in his wake. Wounds did little to slow him unless they were potentially fatal; seeming only to fuel the fire in his eyes and quicken his blade further. Knight-Captain Azelas gave no quarter, allowed no mercy and fought like the damned.

It was no exception when he powered over the rise with a bellowing war cry and fell upon the Archadians with righteous fury even as they tried to regroup to face a threat on both sides. "Dalmasca!" The first in his way fell to a crushing swing that nearly dismembered the soldier with the sheer impact of the blow and, slowed though he suddenly was, Vossler lashed out with calculating blows at anybody who strayed close enough to his blade. Reach was his greatest ally. Heartened by the arrival of backup, the allies on the other side fought back with renewed vigor and in short time they were regrouping with the main forces.

Still, it was not enough to turn the overwhelming tide and Vossler began to realize that their forces were dwindling quickly; the fallen covered the battlefield in broken sprawls. The air was heavy with violence and crows circled overhead awaiting the chance to feast. Falling back to gauge their positions and defense, he grit his teeth at the chaos he witnessed. Two of the Knight-Captains had been lost in the chaos; their troops confused and dismayed at the loss of direction and quickly falling apart under the stress of maintained combat. Basch was holding soundly to his west, but the forces to his east were beginning to falter under the relentless Archadian assault. Vossler watched in mute horror as the line at his east began to fall inward and Knight-Captain Herod charged into the madness only to be cut down with several of his troops as they attempted a forceful push to rescue the stranded soldiers surrounded in the depths of the Archadian forces.

Retreat was quickly becoming their only option of surviving.

"Keep that line tight!" Wading through the hard tide of battle, he attempted to make it to Basch's side, cries of the injured and dying reaching his ears but failing to bring a rise of compassion. They could not be helped. His blade was already slick and red, the gore of battle adhered to his arms and armor alike as he struggled to maintain the line and keep the surviving troops alive. "Fall back to that rise, keep them off our back!" Desperation began to take hold as they struggled. If they could reach the rise, they might be able to fight off the invading forces long enough to make a retreat to safety in the surrounding highwaste. It was a narrow defile and would allow for a potentially life-saving bottleneck should the larger enemy forces attempt to follow.

"Fall back, Basch! Fall back!" Over the din and clash of armor, swords, and marksmen he wasn't sure if his comrade had heard the command. His men moved with a purpose, directed by those few knights that still stood. They were perilously few, though, and still fell under the renewed assault as the Archadians sensed desperation. Vossler fought through a small skirmish; dispatching an overconfident Archadian with minimal effort as he charged to see what trouble Basch was facing. Even so, he called retreat to the other Knight-Captain's forces as well, urging the small force that survived to safety.

Coming over a rise, he found Basch and a young knight facing down a growing contingency of Archadians who gathered like wolves awaiting the kill. Caught in a retreat after trying to regroup a small force of stragglers, the troops had fallen and only the two knights remained standing; the injured clawing at the feet of the Archadians with fading strength in a valiant attempt to save the still standing pair.

Vossler wasn't aware that he'd made any noise or motion, but all eyes turned to him in a single instance and he felt a fire come alive in his gut. Imagined fire danced down his limbs and roiled down the blade of his sword in a kind of self contained fury. How _dare_ they.. In a quick motion, he used his final reserves of mana to cast a solid protect spell on himself and with a burst of magic-borne haste he charged down into the scrimmage with a howl of fury.

Blood splashed hot against his face but he couldn't see through his berserker fury to tell if it had been his own or that of an enemy. Falling and rising on the tide of his red tinted vision, his blade cut through the stunned Archadians and he met Basch halfway, turning to flow like liquid violence over the forces that dared follow. Sound faded down into a pinpoint of static that roared through his ears, the battle coming in flashes of black and white washed in angry reds. There had been only one other occasion when Vossler had fallen into a berserk state.. the experience he was facing now was much the same as before and even though he realized from the further corners of his mind that he was no longer in control of his actions, he could still do nothing to stop his reckless charge and irrational bloodlust.

And then it was over. The loss of energy filled him with a cold, dead weight and the sword that had just been feather-light in his hands threatened to drag him down to the bloodied earth. But they had managed to rejoin the main force while he destroyed the Archadians foolish enough to follow them, Basch covering him with controlled swings of his hammer as they fought back into retreat.

Somehow their gamble had paid off and even though the Archadians had overwhelming numbers, the small rise had fallen away into the rocky terrain that made up the surrounding Mosphoran Highwaste and rather than follow their beleaguered forces, the Archadians celebrated their victory by dispatching the surviving Dalmascans still on the field. Of the hundreds that had set out to do battle with the invaders of Nabradia, Vossler would be surprised if they numbered over two hundred now.

With the night came a feeling of fleeting safety and they set up temporary camp and watchful guards from those who had the energy and weren't as badly injured. Wounds were tended to with what energy could be mustered and those who still had the energy to wield white magics were put to work keeping the injured stabilized. There were many who would not survive until the morning and though it pained him to do it, Vossler found himself directing the appointed medics to tend to their comfort, but waste no energy on keeping them alive.

Leaving Basch to tend to his own troops, Vossler made his rounds quietly, reassuring the survivors and consoling those who had lost friends upon the battlefield. Though he felt each loss as a solid whole, Vossler had long ago decided to never make friends out of troops or fellow knights past Basch. It seemed to hurt less when a person was gone if you never made any strong ties to them in the first place. It might be a habit that several of these surviving soldiers would come to adopt as well. Though the air held a chill to it after burning so much away on the battlefield, they made several small pit fires to keep warm by. Nothing large or particularly warm could be afforded on a tactical standpoint.

After checking on the soldiers who stood stoically at guard and making sure they were able to carry out their duties, he found he had no willpower left to return to the camp. Keeping his circuit behind the posted guards so he wouldn't set up any false alerts, he began to make a slow round of the area they had chosen to regroup in. It would have been too easy to dwell on their failures and so he found a secluded spot with a guarded view and sat, lowering his head into his hands with a groan. How many faithful and noble Dalmascans had they lost? It carried with it an overwhelming sense of loss and despite the fact that nobody would have blamed him for it, he didn't dare shed a tear or show any other sign of perceived weakness. Still, it didn't diminish the impact of the loss any.

"You seem troubled." Vossler turned sharply at the intrusion, and in the blanketing dark Basch lifted hands in mute surrender as he hoisted himself onto the small plateau of rough stone. He hadn't heard the other knight approach.

"I wonder if this was worth it." Letting out a sigh, he sank his head back into his hands still coated in dirt and grime and fixed dark eyes upon the ground between his feet. "Did enough Nabradians escape in the commotion for our losses to be worth it? I have never seen such a stunning defeat before, Basch." Rocks shifted as Basch moved to his side, taking a seat next to him and settling down into the conversation.

"This I cannot say." Basch's voice seemed far away as he dropped into thought. "We did what we could Vossler. I cannot be sure that it was enough."

Jaw clenched, Vossler lifted his head and curled his hands into fists at his side, the frustration of it eating at him from the inside out. "We fought for naught. Archadia will march upon Dalmasca next and we have no power left to defy them." Sensing his desperation, Basch turned to face him. "What will this have accomplished?!" Now that his aggravation had an outlet, he couldn't seem to stop the outpour. "It is all for naught, Basch! All those men, dead! For what?!"

Basch moved quickly through the dark in a reaction that caught Vossler unwary as the knight reached out, taking hold of his shoulders and pulling him off balance long enough to slide cold fingers behind his head. What despair and anger he been feeling faded somewhat as the blonde pressed his forehead to his comrade's, eyes closed and voice soft with a sense of shared misery.

"We are but loyal shields, Vossler. It is not a fate we can escape. All of these men who have fallen knew what they were to face when we arrived and even before that, they joined the military knowing that their lives were forfeit.. that they had become shields of Dalmasca." Basch sighed, shaking his head slowly against Vossler's. "Would you be anything else?"

Silence stretched out for what seemed an eternity and with a fatigued grunt that threatened to break into frustrated tears, Vossler lifted his hands to place them behind Basch's head in return, taking comfort in the very human contact that it provided. They sat still for long moments, the darkness and the cold forgotten by their shared warmth as below them, their men regrouped.

"No." Vossler croaked wearily. "I am a willing and loyal shield to my country and her people." If anything, the chance to let out his frustration seemed to be a calming thing, but Basch's support of his weary frame of mind and the gift of strength he was giving him was enough to still his inner turmoil. "I would have it no other way."

"Captain Ronsenburg! Captain Azelas!" The quiet interrupted, they both jumped to their feet, exchanging looks of concern that still couldn't pierce the deep shadows surrounding them. As Basch moved to the side of the plateau and began to carefully make his way down in the heavier full pate, Vossler sprinted to the side and leaped, landing on his feet and sliding down through the fall of stones to beat his fellow knight to the ground by a good lead.

"Here, keep it down, do you wish to announce our position so easily?" Hissing into the darkness as he emerged from the shadows, Vossler's words and sudden appearance gave the young solider who had been sent to find them a quick start. Sensing the man was about to retreat from the traumatic stress incurred by the battle alone, Vossler took gentle hold of his arm and leaned into the light emanating from the small stone of magicite gripped in the man's hand. "Easy.. what is the cause for such panic?"

Basch arrived on his heels with a glower directed toward Vossler and with a slight shrug they both turned their attention to the soldier. "It's the communication sergeant.. he's been trying to raise a transport but we've stumbled onto an Archadian transmission. Captains, this is bad.."

"Show us, quickly." As commanded, the soldier showed them to a slightly wounded soldier manning a somewhat battered communications pack, the radio antenna was twisted badly and held upright by a second soldier. Even damaged, the message was clear enough once they could discern it through a heavy blanket of static.

"When did this transmission start, sergeant?" Basch leaned in, fingers itching to try and fix the transmission quality though he knew they had likely done all they could to fix it. Vossler stood by in tight expectancy; waiting to hear what it was that had caused such a need to be swift in fetching them.

"Several minutes ago, it's between a reporting pair of Archadians, sir. They're being updated.. it does not bode well for Dalmasca." And then the commo unit flared to life and the message became clearer as the sergeant got to work actively filtering it out.

"—_the treaty at Nalbina. It will stand as ample reminder as to why he should accept what terms we have given him."_ Silence for a moment, and then a second voice picked up.

"_I see, there should be little problem with getting King Raminas to agree with the demands. Dalmasca has lost their main force this night and the survivors stand little chance of making it home. Now – as for that treaty—_"

"_Not to worry. The moment the ink has dried, King Raminas will cease to be of value to us. Their leadership is expendable._"

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Please Read and Review, it makes me more likely to get chapters up faster and also feeds my ego. Hehe.

Also; the quotes that passed between Vossler and Basch were poetic reference to Alfred Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade", which actually helped to inspire this chapter. Check it out – good poem.


	5. Nalbina Awaits

1The interruption of the message between the Archadians sent the camp into a flurry of action. Even so, there was little they could do to rush things, the possibility of further injury to the wounded soldiers held them at a slow pace as they began to strategize a proper way back to Rabanstre during the dark hours of the same night. The Highwaste was a dangerous place even in daylight and so they gathered what supplies left to the, that they could afford to carry and began a slow progress through the mountains.

Unfortunately the pace was strained from the start and though they had volunteers to stay back with those too wounded to survive the trip until help could be sent, they still lost more as they went. To exposure of already grievous wounds and lack of proper treatment that simply wasn't available on the battlefield. Their medics were spread too thin and the wounds to great and again they were forced to suffer more losses as the Dalmascan Order made agonizingly slow progress toward their goal. The life of the King and the well being of the Kingdom rested heavily on their shoulders.

Despite their struggling pace and continued loss of forces, those who died on the way and those who slowed their pace further to accommodate the wounded. Many would have seen simply leaving the wounded behind as a heartless action and even though Vossler found himself fighting to maintain a greater pace there was little comfort in what he did. But Dalmasca had to be saved, and they could not afford to keep a slower pace.

In the end, they still arrived too late.

Tight lipped and weary, they entered Rabanastre and were greeted with relief in some cases and horror in others; a force that had been nearing six hundred strong had been reduced to a fraction of that. Only sixty three returned in the first push though medics and runners and any who would go were dispatched in airships and even on chocobo back to go and retrieve the survivors. Still, the remnants of the once proud Order were staggeringly few.

Their arrival into the Dalmascan capital was met with mixed emotions and before Basch or Vossler could get around to dismissing the troops and seeking care for the wounded; medics and family arrived and were quick to spirit away those who were left standing in a short matter of time. Several troops stood by quietly; those with no family or nowhere to go.

"Rest for now." Basch's voice gathered their collective attention and he bowed his head quietly. "Get some sleep, some food and some rest." As the troops trickled away, he turned to Vossler. "We must warn the King of this treachery." Nodding agreement, the two Knights made for the palace.

Only to find King Raminas gone; left for Nalbina not long ago to surrender to Archadia. They couldn't help but feel dismayed at their failure once more and hurried to explain the situation to the counsel in a state of numb disbelief. It was too late to call the transport back, it had already passed into Archadian-won territory and so they were faced with little other options than to return once more to battle and attempts to save their King.

With the brief snatches of time offered between gathering supplies and pulling together a suitable force of troops still able to fight, Vossler fought back his exhaustion and took the opportunity to get a meal, choosing to forgo sleep for the chance to sit, relax and fill his empty stomach before they were once again shuffled off to do battle. The Sand Sea offered the greatest amount of appeal at this time and after shrugging out of his gear and leaving it in the capable hands of an armorer, something he had never considered doing before because a knights armor was his life, he made his way through Rabanastre.

"I hear things went a bit poorly." The man situated behind the bar offered him a sad smile and went about to getting something for him to eat. "You did the best you could, though Captain and we're all thankful for it." Nodding thanks, Vossler silently accepted the words of encouragement as he waited his meal. "You should get some rest though, you look about as lively as a corpse."

"Thank you. Your consideration is appreciated." Picking up the plate of food as it was offered to him, he sided it with a deep glass of water and moved to a table. "As is your cooking." He'd been so long without substantial food that it the ache that coursed through his gut was nearly overwhelming. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to eat more than half of it.. it had been long enough without anything with field rations that he couldn't manage much of the gourmet meal.

It was here that Basch found him, the other knight already suited in his Dalmscan issue light armor, sword slung from his hip and searching look on his face. In the time given him, it seemed as if the other knight had chosen a bath and a short rest, he looked to be in much better condition than Vossler felt. Gaze falling on his friend, Basch hurried over and took a seat at the table.

"We have a small force manned together; though I fear it might not be enough should we carry out a head on attack. Our best chances of success right now are in a stealthy approach to the matter." Snaking out nimble fingers, Basch helped himself to some of Vossler's unfinished meal with a half-smile of amusement at the light frown shot his way. "Though I fear we will need to be moving soon if we hope to arrive by nightfall."

"It matters not." Rather than watch Basch keep filching bits of his meal, the pushed the plate to the other knight who accepted it graciously and began to sate his own appetite. While the shared meal might have seemed strange to the other occupants of the room, it was something familiar to the two. They'd always stolen food from the other, ever since their earlier days of rations that failed to sit well in the stomach. Puffing his cheeks and letting out a slow exhalation of breath, Vossler took a drink of water and set the cup idly down. "I'm exhausted, Basch."

"Then at least _try_ to sleep. We move soon." In no time, the plate was cleared and Vossler watched in amused silence as Basch attempted to thieve his water next. After several unsuccessful tries, he gave up and called for a glass of his own. "I cannot recall the last time I have seen you looking quite so burned out, Vossler. We cannot approach this without our full focus."

"I'll sleep on the way." Standing, he left the money to pay for the shared meal and placed a heavy hand atop Basch's shoulder in passing. "Not to worry. Things will run smoothly, I have the energy to see to that at least."

On his way to the palace, he stopped by the armorer and was pleasantly surprised to find his gear not only repaired to total functionality, but cleaned and polished as well; the hard leather stitched back into completeness and cracked plates of mithril replaced with such professional care that the repairs seemed seamless. Grateful for the reprieve, he gave the proud bangaa double the price he asked and had a new set of gauntlet chains all but forced upon him. Rather than carry his load back, he borrowed the shop's back room and changed quickly, tucking his civilian clothing under an arm as he made his way back.

His arrival seemed to coincide almost precisely with the arrival of the troops that had come to fight with them. While many of them were fresh and mentioned that since they had been present at Nalbina, and so had not fought in Nabradia during the slaughter, several of the troops that showed up were the ones that had accompanied their forces and arrived as weary and worn down as Vossler was. Still, the grouping was good and he was surprised to find there were two other knights; albeit young and fresh, that had been added to their ranks.

It was a gut wrenching blow to his already battered focus though, when he learned by speaking with the two young knights that aside from them, himself and Captain Ronsenburg, the Knights of the Order had all been decimated in the previous battles for Nabradia. Though the few knights that had returned from Nalbina and Nabradia were expected to recover; they would never wear the mantle of the Order again. They were the last Knights of Dalmasca left. Basch arrived as Vossler was coming to grips with such devastating news and though he could tell Basch was greatly upset by the sudden tension along his shoulders, they both kept their horror and disbelief to a minimum.

And before he knew it, they were all being directed to the landing pads as a single transport was brought roaring to life. It was disheartening to realize that all that stood between the salvation and destruction of Dalmasca could fit into a single transport. Heart heavy and body responding sluggishly to his commands, Vossler took his usual place in the back of the transport; joined by an equally weary looking Basch. Nalbina was under Archadian occupation and so they needed to be quick and concise with the planning and execution of their mission.

As the transport lurched into the air, they spoke of tactics and strategy, of the layout of the Nalbina fortress and the routes that would ultimately make shorter time in their mission. But as they continued and the sky began to loose its light, Vossler found himself unable to concentrate past his weariness. Basch's voice took on a faraway quality and the relentless rumble of the transport's engines blanketed everything with a strange backdrop of sound. Crossing the Nabradian border, Vossler slumped into a dreamless and exhausted sleep against Basch's shoulder and didn't stir until they touched down outside of Nalbina.

Vossler woke when the ship jostled to the ground, the stirring of soldiers in their armor and the slow shifting of weaponry pulling him from sleep and into a complete state of wakefulness honed by decades of military service. Basch turned and pressed a hand to his shoulder as if to wake him, but Vossler's dark eyes were already open and aware and so he offered a grim smile. The ship was empty before too long and left with instructions to stay close, but far enough to avoid suspicion. When they had secured King Raminas, they would announce their success with a flare and the ship would be quick to retrieve them and spirit them back to the safety of Dalmascan borders.

Nalbina stood before them, foreboding and dark; her great walls stained with smoke and grit from weeks past; chipped and crumbling stone littered the ground around the base of the walls and watchtowers and crushed armor still lay beneath the jagged edges of fallen stone. Once a place of glory, the Fortress of Nalbina had fallen into mournful disrepair. But they knew her pathways still and with little effort on their part they made it quietly inside and encountering only fringe fighters that were easily dispatched, they made it to the courtyard.

Taking a moment to breathe and to gather their plans together, Vossler eyed the new knights speculatively. Untested, they would only do to hold them back and had hesitated each time before engaging the enemy. Basch had already neatly stepped in to intercept a blow meant for one of the unwary young knights. "They will do little but hold us back. Basch."

Eyes flickering back to the younger knights and once more to Vossler's face, the blonde leveled a disapproving frown his way. "You aught not say such things. They will learn and fight well. I'm certain of it."

"We need speed, Basch." Vossler hissed under his breath, itching to be off once more even though they still needed to find the fastest route to the royal chamber. As luck would have it, it was on the far side of the courtyard and on the top floor of Nalbina, sequestered away in a tower corner. "We have little time as it stands."

"Vossler-" Whatever Basch was about to say died on his lips as the alert went up, shouts resounding through the courtyard as the Archadian forces discovered them. Flat footed and caught by surprise, they swung sluggishly into battle, Vossler driving hard into the oncoming rush as Basch hurried to gather the stunned troops. Everything moved as if underwater and Vossler brought his blade up and around in what seemed like slow motion.

The Archadian squad saw him coming, and his roar was drowned out by the rushed orders and war cries of the oncoming enemy. Sword whistling through air, he met the first soldier head on; blade impacting armor with a horrid crunch of armor as the heavy sword sheared through steel and leather alike with the force put behind it. The man went down in a scream, blood leaping from the gash in his armor to spatter across Vossler's armor and face. Kicking the man aside with little remorse, he engaged the next.

They came quickly though. The soldiers split and washed around them to stall the others, coming down on their assembled forces with the shrill chime of conecting blades. Things progressed quickly, Vossler found himself pressed back into the midst of his other troops and though they fought well and the Archadians found themselves on the losing side of the skirmish, he still saw his own men falling beneath the onslaught.

Eventually it all whittled down to the cries and groans of the dying and wounded, the Archadians had fallen, though their numbers were again reduced. Vossler made the rounds, face set into a look of grim disappointment and he tilted his head back to eye the stars. Time was running quickly out. "It is as I feared. They're slowing us down."

Basch knelt over one of the young knights, slumped heavily against the wall and surrounded by a fall of corpses, both Archadian and Dalmascan. Vossler grimaced as he noticed the other young knight who had accompanied them on the ground; eyes staring lifelessly at the sky that he himself had been watching. Pushing down the feeling of illness that sank into him, he strode over to Basch while the rest regrouped. Unable to lock back his compassion, Basch was coaxing the young boy to his feet.

Pacing restlessly behind Basch, he knew that what he said would not change the other knight's mind. Where Vossler was focused tension ready to break for need of securing his king, Basch's concern was toward each troop as well as the success of the mission. This one was not hurt badly, and would likely be of some help to them.. But he was stunned and dizzy.

Frowning over his shoulder, the reprimand was clear in Basch's eyes as well as his voice. "Do not say that. Not all of us are here for love of battle." The barb was meant to sting and found it's mark. Rather than respond to it though, Vossler scowled and turned his head away, shifting restlessly. "He fights to defend his homeland." And there was the real reason. Basch had told him before that he was a refuge from Landis, his home swallowed by encroaching Archadian forces. Seeing his own plight in the younger knight, he urged him onward. Grunting irritably, Vossler turned and stalked off a few paces to survey the damage wrought by their skirmish.

Though he shifted restlessly, waiting for Basch's work to be done and the boy either left behind or brought along. He was too young.. Likely knighted for the sole purpose of accompanying them to save the king, much like his other knight sprawled broken and dead across the ground only several feet from where they stood.

Standing guard, he directed a small perimeter be set up while they regrouped, Basch spoke to the young knight in hushed tones and Vossler paid little attention. There was something on the wind.. And as the two spoke behind him, he strained his ears. Restless nerves jarred against one another and eventually, he could stand little more hesitation. Swinging his body around toward the other two in an attempt to communicate the urgency of the matter, he voiced his displeasure with in growling tones.

"It's time Basch." He interrupted sharply, rewarded when the two looked back to him. "Save the discussion for later. We must reach the king before they act or all our efforts will be in vain." They all knew what was at stake and couldn't afford to waste time on idle conversation. Swift action was needed! Was he the only one that felt it?

"I'm aware of the situation." Apparently they were all on thin nerves, Basch's disapproval made it clear that he didn't appreciate the interruption. In the following tense silence, they heard the unmistakable sounds of approach. Shouting resounded once more over the courtyard - Archadian backup was swift in coming. Growling under his breath, Vossler reached over his shoulder for the comforting weight of his blade.. Were they to suffer such disruptions time and time again?

Basch charged past him, stopping short to place himself between the oncoming Archadians and Vossler's attempts to charge. "Vossler, go ahead." Setting his jaw, Basch reached for the blade at his hip. "I will handle these rabble."

There was a long moment of hesitation on his part, even as his troops hurried past to the courtyard gate. For a moment, Vossler couldn't bring himself to leave his friend's side despite the danger that surrounded them all. Left hanging between them was a sudden unease and an feel of ill fate.. Across the short distance that separated them, they shared a look of acute uncertainty, perhaps Basch felt it as well. Shaking it off as simple nerves, though he hadn't suffered those in relation to battle for some time, Vossler moved into a soldier's salute, hands fisted over his hip. "Godspeed."

What shot through his system as he turned to catch up with his troops felt too similar to abandonment as he left Basch and the small remainder of troops he commanded to face down the rush of Archadian soldiers. But he managed to steel himself against it and reminded himself that this was greater than them all. King Raminas' safety came first and foremost.

It did little to ease his mind though as he rushed into the halls of Nalbina, that he heard the sounds of battle behind him once more. The quick clash of blades, the heavy impact of armor and shields that pitched through his confusion to take hold of a part of him that wanted nothing more than to turn back to the fight and throw himself against the Archadian might; side by side with his friend. Side by side with one of the three knights of the order that still lived..

They had lost much. They would not lose the King as well.

Pushing all the effort he could muster into keeping ahead, he pushed it all out of his mind and focused on leadership. Pushed out the thought of the loyal Dalmascans that lay dead in the courtyard behind him, the sight of blood pooled on the mist-charred ground and most of all, the sight of Basch squaring off against an Archadian squad with nobody to fight at his side but weary troops and a helpless young knight.

"Onward men. We will not fail the King." And yet, the feeling remained that they were facing something they couldn't overcome.. The halls of Nalbina swallowed the sounds of their footsteps as they pressed onward toward the chambers. Failure could not be afforded. Basch would catch up. He always did. And when this was over, they could afford the time to relax and recover from the damage they'd taken.

Vosslers thoughts gave him little comfort. Fate whispered to him that it was not to be so. The feeling of unease and loss plagued him as he led the onward charge.


	6. To Fail a King

1The hallways quickly turned into a cage. Their footsteps churned up noise that rebounded and increased tenfold in the narrow confines of Nalbina's core, but they could not find progress where it should have been. Damage to the fortress in its earlier attacks had caused walls to fall and collapse, hallways to end in splintered disjunction where there should have been more. More, more, more! Where was the hallway that split to the stairwell that should have led them right down the path they needed? Buried - it seemed. Vossler managed to keep from cursing, tongue scraping on teeth as he snatched the map of the fortress from one of his troops and growled in irritation. Too long. This was taking far too long.

"The way has been blocked." One of the troops reportedly wearily as they faced down a wall of crumbled marble and shredded tapestry. They'd encountered this same problem several times already and backtracking had gotten them nowhere. There was always one more hallway to check but Basch had agreed to take the foremost route so at least one of them would get there in time to stop the treaty from being signed.

"Certainly, it is." Balling the thick material of the map between white knuckled fists, Vossler pitched it to the ground with a ferocious scowl and clenched his teeth against the rising despair that he calmly tagged as impatience because failure was not an option. "You." Stabbing a finger at a well weathered man bearing an axe through the broad loop of his belt, Vossler beckoned him nearer. "Earlier you had mentioned your brief station here. Is there a secondary pathway aside from those that we have already attempted?"

It took a moment, the man's sand blasted skin tightening in concentration as dusky eyes went deeply thoughtful. Vossler waited in silence though his fingers itched against the blood spattered leather and metal of his armor. Finally the man nodded sharply. Rather than await an explanation of the area, he thrust a hand out in a sharp gesture of command. Lead on, is what the gesture said, though the tight set of his jaw provoked the urgency with which the man took the lead and led them mazelike through a winding series of corridors until even Vossler lost track of where they were and how they would escape this place..

There was a blind whirring from above, the sounds of aerial blasts that rumbled through the stone of the fortress, but none of them payed it more attention than a passing curiosity. Unless it was about to land on them through several feet of dense stone or cause them some harm, it was not worth paying immediate attention to. There were larger things at risk.

Oddly, their path was largely devoid of contest. With such an outright betrayal hanging in the air they had all assumed that their path would be heavily guarded and ferociously defended by the Archadians and yet, they had only come across meager forces that seemed largely surprised to find any kind of rescue coming down these particular set of hallways. Each band was quickly dispatched; small teams that put up little resistance as Vossler's squad swept unexpectedly from shadowed alcoves and splintered hallways.

In little time they had found the right path, though it was difficult to say how much time the consistent dead ends and backtracking had leeched from the dubious progress. If - no, surely not 'if, certainly they had not fallen' - Basch's group had survived, perhaps they had made better time.

"Through here, Captain.." The leading soldier stopped, guiding them quietly through a doorway that blended into the immaculate stonework and opened into a twining stairwell. They paused, regrouping in silence and eyeing the emptiness above with concern. There was no knowing that awaited the team above; more empty halls or an ambush and everything in between ranged through their collective minds, but it was only a moment after considering what awaited them that Vossler grasped the rail; iron scraping against his armor as he clenched the band of metal tightly and vaulted up the first few steps, taking caution as he rose up the tightly circular route that was never made to allow for a man of his size in full armor.

He had never appreciated stairways in a tactical sense unless he was the one with the obvious advantage of higher ground. And when it was your head that came level first rather than your weapon.. It wasn't that hard to imagine what could await him. Swift but silent he wound the stairwell, blade clutched tightly to his body to keep from clanging against the stairs or railing and breath coming in measured gasps. Climbing so quickly in full armor was using up much of what energy was still left to him after fighting his way through the massive and broken fortress.

When he reached the final edge, he paused and looked down the trailing of men that dotted the winding tiers of scorched metal in varied positions of readiness. Nodding once, he lifted his head quickly above the stairwell and darted back down before any enterprising marksman that might be waiting for them could take his head off. But the room was empty; the doorway shadowless and halls fairly quiet beyond that. Vossler cautiously cleared it and stood, turning to beckon his men.

"The way seems clear, move quickly." The stairwell rattled with the sudden surge of activity upon it and Vossler motioned for silence still, turning to regard the doorway with blade held at ready should they suddenly draw unwanted attention. Yet things seemed eerily calm...

It meant to contrasting possibilities that failed to weigh any lighter on his already pressed mind. Either they were not expected to take this route, which meant their escape would possibly be blocked by whatever forces were meant to waylay them previously. The second possibility meant that they were in fact expected.. In which case the lack of opposition meant something dire indeed. Remaining quiet above all things, Vossler motioned for his men to follow closely and stay wary.

It would not be far now, he was reassured, one more length of hallway and another rise of stairs and they would be there.

They trotted down the body-littered hallway in varying stages on concern. Only Archadian dead were there to greet them, small groups that were unable to stand against the might of the surviving troops that Basch had no doubt led through this way quite a short while ago. Dark carpets were stained with spilled gunpowder and blood; a grisly reminder that haste was of the utmost concern.

Unopposed, they made it to the open hallway of stairs and stopped momentarily to study the scene. The enemy lay dead upon the stairs and at the base; sprawled limbs and hacked bodies creating a gruesome waterfall effect of blood and gore that filled the hallway with a scent unlike any other. None of them were particularly appalled at the sight and had come to accept such things on combat with the same calm knowledge that the sun would rise and set each day regardless of what else may have happened.

But pressed into the thick mass of red was only one set of bootprints and that seemed more than curious. Either way, it was enough to waylay their progress if only for a moment. And in the considering silence they heard it; at the top of the stairs was the sound of a scuffle. Hoarse shouts, threats and the sharp sound of metal. Vossler tensed, his soldiers following suit. None of the voices were familiar and all were heavy with the accent of Archadian weight and nobility. Pressure dug into the hollow behind his eyes and with a low growl he angled his blade and led a silent charge up the stairs.

His view slipped fleetingly to the double doors at the end of the hall that would lead into the stateroom; flung open and housing a good two dozen Archadians between their broad arches. Cursing sharply, he shot across the hall and into a small alcove. Hissing, he slashed the air sharply with a hand and gestured for his men, poised on the stairways, to find nearby shelter and stay.. Though the party of Archadians had not seen him, he wished to take no chances as they seemed to be ready to leave. Pressing himself into the deeper shadows at the unlit end of the hall, he caught his breath between his teeth and waited for them to pass.

Shock nearly gave him away and he had to remind himself that it would be his death should he make a sound. Joking and ribbing accompanied their bitter murmuring as they passed, the echo of Archadian voices through their dense helms was only a bitter prelude to what came next. Basch was held between a tall standing pair; wrists in shackles and eyes cast as low as his shoulders slumped. Vosslers's fingers tightened around the grip of his blade, pressed so close to his body that it scuffed away at the leather with each breath he took; laboring to keep his silence and trying hard not to give himself away. Singularly, he was no match for the Archadians and would be led away as well if not slain outright. Even with his men, they numbered too few and too weary to free the other Captain. It was difficult to stand there and do nothing though, his lungs and muscles ached in protest as he kept himself pressed firmly to the wall.

Minutes stretched long and even after he heard no more noise in the distance he didn't dare to move. Instead his mind tormented him with the knowledge of complete and utter failure; for if Basch was being led away in chains than surely the King was dead...

"Captain-" Vossler startled, eyes slashing to the stairs and the hesitant group of soldiers that eventually emerged despite his orders. Concern was plain on their faces at his state of unresponsive concentration. Sagging slightly, he sheathed his sword with a look of grim finality and gestured for them to follow. The hall was short, the door left open to reveal the slaughter within.

As the soldiers rushed to inspect the fallen bodies of their comrades that lay across the cold tiles, Vossler approached the heavy throne set toward the back on a low dias. King Raminas was pale, the blood gone from his face and features slack in a way that none of them had ever been witness to. Cliche would have been to say that he was asleep, but his brow was furrowed in pain even beyond life and his posture spoke of a sincere lack of struggle. But there was the treaty on his lap, the crisp edges on one side weighed down with the life blood of the king, like it had been foretold.

And yet the straight slash of line at the bottom where his signature was to go was blank..

"Sir!" Vossler dropped the paper to flutter rather gracelessly onto the floor and looked to the soldier who had hailed him, bent over the prone and seemingly lifeless figure of the young Knight he recognized from the courtyard. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Nodding his head, he moved a few steps toward him. "Sir, he's alive!" And it seemed impossible, not with the honed blade of a familiar dagger driven into him like that..

Eyes widening, he struggled to remember the young man's name and dropped to his knees on the ground beside him, heedless of the blood as he lay gentle hands upon him. "..Reks." Eyelids fluttered, but there was no response. Turning to the soldier, he snapped restlessly. "Find something to treat him with, cut bandages loose from the dead. We cannot loose him as well."

As a few soldiers got their feet back under them and scrambled for bandages, he lifted his hands and placed them on Reks' shoulders, attempting to bring some sense from the boy. "Reks, if you give up on me.." There was no threat that came to mind, it all seemed very awkward..

Climbing to his feet as the others returned and began to patch the young knight up once more, Vossler turned to regard King Raminas carefully. Why had he been killed without the treaty yet signed? How had his men met such a quick end.. There wasn't enough damage for it to have been a large struggle. They had to have been surprised. Expected. Clenching his jaw, he moved outside of the room to escape the scent of death and the bitter taste of failure that hung as heavily in the air as the blood. Gauntlets clenched around the heavy banister and he was rewarded when a few flaking chips of marble crumbled under the metal of his grasp.

And then he heard it, the repercussion of armor striking clearly on the stairs below. And not a falling body, that. No, the sound of pursuit was coming up the stairs though it seemed likely to be just one or two people. Standing straight, he tilted his head down a fraction and through the balconies that tired down to the ground level he saw the ornate silvered armor of a pair of Judge Magisters. And they were clearly on their way here...

Slowly, he backed into the room so as not to betray any noise and closed the doors firmly behind him, pressing his wait against the joining of the two as his men looked on in wary expectation of even more bad news.

Instead, he jerked his chin toward Reks. "Is the boy stable enough yet to move?" The soldier tending to him gave a slow shake of his head. Eyebrows knitting together as he moved through several options, he tried to come to a survivable decision. With their failure so complete, they could not risk losing another life. And Reks and himself seemed to be the last of the Dalmasca Order left breathing. Though Reks certainly didn't look like that would last long..

"There are a pair of Judge Magisters making their way here, though for what reason I know not. Should they find us, they will not hesitate to execute those who remain alive." His words were met with a tense hush and eyes rose to him in answer. They were waiting for him to save them all. Jaw clenching, he shook his head and rolled ideas through his mind once more, looking for something, anything, that would get them all out of here alive. It was too late for the fallen that littered the floor; loyal and noble Dalmascan soldiers that died on the threshold of success..

"Captain.." It was only through the silence that he heard the voice, strained and rasping. Reks.. Vossler lifted an eyebrow in genuine surprise and kneeled by the young Knight. "It was Captain Ronsenburg.." Eyes still closed tightly against the pain, Reks lifted his hands to lay them against the wound; push back the pain. "He.. Killed them all. Killed the King.."

Rolling back on his heels, Vossler regained his feet in a smooth motion though there was certain disbelief that lingered. Basch was simply not capable of such things.. Reks was the only witness to the deed it seemed and all the more reason for him to survive this. His mind made up, he gestured to three of the other soldiers who still seemed to have the energy left to make a stand with him.

"This is what you will do." He turned to the remaining group, eyes gone hard as he took up the mantle of leadership and began to make his instructions. What he had planned was simple but bore the capacity for error should things not go as planned. Reks was to make it to the dropship, no questions asked. The remaining soldiers would make an able guard. Once outside the walls, they were to signal the ship that waited for their extraction.

The part that he and the other three were to play would be the difficult one and if things did not go well, and they accepted the risks as he explained it to them, they would be left behind as the extraction ship would not have the time to wait for them to catch up. It was there job to defeat or at least waylay the Magisters. Once everybody knew the plan, there was little time to execute.

Vossler slammed the double doors open with a broad shouldered impact and dashed across the blood slicked floor, standing at the peak of the stairs as the pair of Judge Magisters froze in surprise at the base; looking up in disbelief at the sudden opposition. Apparently they hadn't been sent to fight, more to collect whatever bodies needed recovering.. Eyes narrowed and he swung his sword in a broad and threatening arc as the other three moved in to take up position.

Playing decoy was not something he had ever tried.

Kicking off from the top step he wondered if he'd judged the distance right and hoped he wouldn't break an ankle landing incorrectly. Or that the Archadians would regain their balance before he struck and render him.. well, dead.

But things worked out due to some unforeseen miracle. He landed at the base of the stairs with a bone jarring impact and hit a crouch. Muscles coiled underneath him and before the Magisters could do more than reach for their weapons he jammed his shoulder into the nearest's gut and drove up and out. Hard. It was rewarding to say the least. The impact threw the Magister into the wall where, unable to keep his or her balance, they flailed to the ground into a heap of armor. The second took the time to prepare an brought loose a massive hammer with a growl of anger.

There was no time for battle though. Vossler brought his sword up and jammed it into the hollow beneath the flat end of the hammer where it met with the handle, bracing himself to hold it long enough for his men to swing past him and the struggling Judge Magister and down the stairwell. Shocked at the sudden retreat, the Judge betrayed their shift in attention by the sudden and minute sideways twist of their helm. That was all Vossler needed and had been waiting for. He kicked out, dropped onto his back and rolled as the hammer came down where his head had been. Reaching the side of the stairwell, he bolted down after his troops and prayed that the plan had worked; that the two would follow them instead of get to their original duties in the stateroom.

Sparing a look up, he saw the first Judge clambering to his feet, the second was already halfway down the staircase after them. So far so good.

His men were waiting at the base and gestured to him before vanishing around a corner and down into the main hallway. It was understood that the other team would be using this same pathway so they needed to clear it before they could get moving. Their current pace was breakneck though and the Judges struggled to keep up with the lighter armored Dalmascans.

Which was all in the plan. Vossler had never really abided by fighting dirty, though often times it was difficult to say if something a person did was dirty or not when fighting. Particularly on a large scale. But there was little doubt to the necessity of what they were trying to accomplish and so he put it out of his mind, reached down to the cold rage that burned constant in his gut and waited with his men for the Magister's to clear the corner they were waiting around.

The first one did at a dead run, unable to stop when they saw the trap laid out for them. With a roar, Vossler leveled his blade out and lunged forward; gripping it tightly with arms coiled up to his stomach. Unable to stop in time, the Judge tried to turn into the strike, a movement that only opened the blade up to the weaker spots of leather joints of weaker metal. The blade impacted with a crunch and carried through with an ineffable noise of surrendering flesh and one. Vossler braced himself but when the Judge collapsed across his blade and tumbled to the ground he was drawn with it; sword trapped beneath the heavily armored body as it fell.

The second Judge turned and with a hoarse cry of anger leaped the corpse and brought their blade down in a sickle of steel. Vossler threw himself back and narrowly dodged the blade, instead it caught him across his armored thighs with a painful clap of steel. Then his men fall upon him and in little time their task was done. Wincing as he rose to his feet, Vossler led the man back to the broad entry into the building, the courtyard was as silent as a tomb and before long the rest of the group arrived with Reks held between a pair on a makeshift stretcher.

The remainder of their journey was made in tense silence. They had failed, that much was obvious for King Raminas was dead. They had brought their liege along as well; wrapped quietly in a tapestry to be taken back to Rabanastre for a proper funeral and burial. Though he led his small group back to the outer limits of the walls and signaled for extraction as had been planned all along, there was a weight he carried that seemed incomparable to anything he had ever borne before.

Reks was lucid enough to tell them everything he knew; that his hesitation in dealing with the Archadians brought him late to the scene; but quickly enough to witness Basch's treachery and receive the wound that still threatened his young life despite the care they had taken in keeping him breathing and whole. Aboard the airship that flew in for extraction, he explained the situation to the pilots and told them to move quickly back to Rabanastre.

It was enough to have lost the King, and now Rabanastre was threatened indeed by Archadia's presence on the border. The fighting would increase to unknown proportions and the slaughter of Dalmascans would continue. And the news that Basch had turned into a Kingslayer with the weak reasoning that their ruler had intended all along to sell them out? It seemed impossible. Though he never voiced it, Vossler was quick to believe that Reks had not seen or heard everything that was there. Basch was labeled a traitor.. Vossler was quicker to label Reks a liar. But it would have been unseemly and so he held his tongue.

There was only obstacle now that stood in the way of Archadia claiming Dalmasca for certain.. Her royal highness, the Princess Ashelia was still breathing and alive, but he had little doubt that Archadia would repair that problem as soon as they were able.

Was it not his duty as a Knight to protect Dalamasca? And now, was the Princess not Dalmasca itself embodied?

By the time they reached Rabanastre, he knew what had to be done, though told nobody of his plans. With his most trustworthy ally now a captive and thought a Kingslayer, how long would it take to find betrayal in his own name?

Darkness shadowed the Palace and it's corridors and he left the unsavory task of removing the King and wounded Knight from the extraction. Dressed in steel, sweat and blood he ignored the cautious and concerned stares granted to him by those who still wandered the night and made his way into the depths of the Palace. His duty was not yet done.


End file.
